Sara’s voice came through the phone speaker as an unintelligible hiss, but it didn’t take a linguistics expert to get the general drift. Basically, she was tearing the kid a new one, not so much out of anger as out of fear.

She must have gone to Eric’s room to check on him, say good-night if he was awake, and found it empty. Eli guessed the boy had gone home from Bailey’s with Sara, waited a while, then sneaked out to meet Carly, who must have, in turn, sneaked out to meet him.

The girl would be in Dutch with Cord and Shallie if they’d caught her.

“Okay, yes,” Eric complained, rolling his eyes at Eli to show how put-upon he was, having Sara for a mother. “I know I’m grounded—of course I didn’t hitch, Carly brought me—wait, you won’t tell her mom and dad, right?”

Eli, who had been leaning against one of the kitchen counters, washing that lonely slice of cheese down with beer, set the can aside and extended one hand.

“Eli wants to talk to you,” Eric told his mother, sounding relieved.

“Did you know about this?” Sara demanded.

“Of course I didn’t,” Eli replied reasonably. “Eric was waiting in the yard when I got home. Festus thought he was a burglar and knocked him off his feet. I guess his plan was to lick the kid to death.”

“Sometimes I really hate being a parent,” Sara sighed, having simmered down a little. “I should have been a nun. Or a spinster librarian.”

“Now, Luke,” Eli teased, “I just can’t picture you as either one of those things.”

Sara laughed in spite of herself. “How many times have I asked you not to call me ‘Luke’?”

“Not enough, apparently,” Eli replied. “Go to bed, sis. Get some sleep. I’ll bring the happy wanderer by in the morning. For tonight, he’ll be fine on my couch.”

“I could strangle Eric,” Sara confessed. She sounded exhausted now, and close to tears. “When I went to say good-night and he was gone—”

“I know,” Eli said, his voice gruff and as gentle as he could make it. “We’re all tired. Let’s all call it a day and let tomorrow take care of itself.”

“Good idea,” Sara replied, albeit reluctantly.

“And, Sara?”

“What?”

“Put that frigging Glock back in the safe.”

“Not gonna happen, Sheriff. Tonight, it goes into the top drawer of my nightstand.”

Eli closed his eyes for a moment, out of weariness and frustration. Arguing with his sister was like pushing boulders uphill.

“Has anybody ever told you that you are one stubborn human being?” he grumbled, after taking a final swig of beer.

“Runs in the family,” Sara retorted.

Eli unclamped his back molars. “Good night, Sara.”

“Good night,” Sara replied, almost merrily. “And, oh, yeah, happy New Year.”